Construct
by Meelu the Bold
Summary: The eerie words of a creature that was never human . . . but nevertheless, longed to be. LimstellaxEliwood.
1. The Dragon's Gate

**Construct**

**Disclaimer + Notes: Fire Emblem is the property of Intelligent Systems, as is Limstella and everyone else. This is a product of my imagination. I'm doing a little touch-up, since old shit is old, but nothing too big has changed. Maybe more introspection on Limstella's part. Once again, review for content not grammar/spelling but if that floats your boat I don't care, shoot for it.**

"I" is such selfish terminology.

"I" implies that one has a self, that one has knowledge of oneself, that one knows that one is "I.""My" entails ownership to "I," as does "mine." Furthermore, "you" are other "Is" that are not oneself. Names are another matter entirely. The only creatures that do not receive names are the drones, which are numbered.

How tiresome pronouns are.

"I am" is such a unique phrase. It suggests knowledge of condition, of being. How easily "I" refer to these thoughts occurring as "I."

"I am" fascinated with the concept of "I."

"I" do not have the right to call "myself" such a word. But I do anyway.

I am called Limstella. I am told I am heavenly, vile, perfection, abomination. I do as I am told. I am none of those things, for I cannot imagine how to accomplish those. I am limited in my capabilities.

I read. I comprehend very little, because I have nothing to comprehend against. The word "field" means nothing to one such as me. "Green field" is even worse. I know green. Green is trees, the pigment of underbrush of the thickets and woods. It is a soothing, peaceful thing, green. Therefore, a "field" is green, but still I have no understanding of the word. Is it a tree? A creature? Something I can hold in my hand? "Rolling green field" is hours upon hours of contemplation and the phenomenon called "headache."

I learn, which is the gathering of knowledge, very quickly and with ease. The "you" named "Nergal" tells me I am a masterpiece and learn by nature. Nergal praises my beauty, another foreign concept. What is beauty? Clearly, it is something that appeals. Beautiful is the adjective. "I am beautiful" is something that I accept, but am I really such a thing? My confusion is not appealing. I find no consolation in beauty when I have no standard of beauty to measure myself against. So what does the word "beauty" mean to me? Is it a power? Sonia is beautiful; Sonia repeats that again and again. I do not find Sonia appealing. It pains me to associate myself with Sonia, or having the same qualities as Sonia when I detest Sonia's qualities. But this does not include the possibility that Sonia is wrong. Then what _is_ "beauty?" Language is confusing. I learn because I do not understand, not because it is my nature.

How often Nergal refers to strange, foreign ideas! Beauty merely is the first of many confusing concepts. The "you" named Nergal must not understand that I cannot even guess at these mysterious "dragons," "Black Fang," and "Athos."

There is one thing, though, that Nergal often speaks of and I understand, a something of "quintessence." Quintessence is a strange thing, too, but I know it. I do not know how. I cannot describe it. Is this the "instinct of animals?" I do not even know what "animals" is.

"Ugh," I utter. I am reading again.

Nergal possesses a vast collection of books. This is called a "library" and I am fascinated with it, too. Libraries are easy to understand, even if their contents are not. Currently, I am trying to decipher the idea of a "dog." It is not a successful attempt and I am weary of trying. I read of "shepherds" (another impossible undertaking; what is a "sheep?") and I am to instantly understand that they use dogs to herd? Isn't a "herd" a grouping of similar organisms? Why is it now a verb? "Ugh" does not even begin to convey my frustration!

I stand from where I am crouched in a corner. The muscles in my feet and calves are sore and so I stretch them, awkwardly, one at a time. It is cumbersome. Perhaps stretching both at the same time would be more effective. I resolve to try that next time and walk (I am fascinated with walking as well, but not as much; it loses its appeal after long distances) to the haphazard scattering of books on the empty, dry floor of the Gate. Nergal leaves them here to wait for the "you" named Nergal to return. I read them in Nergal's absence. Nergal is delighted with that.

Sometimes, though, reading is tiring, simply because I have to stop and imagine everything as described and I know so very little.

Instead of switching books, I stand very still. I try very hard to imagine the shepherds of Bern. A crook. A lamb. An ewe, a ram. What could these be? I need a better teacher than a book. Books assume a certain amount of knowledge that I do not possess.

There are no teachers on Valor, this place I am at, other than Nergal. Valor is an island, which means it is land surrounded by the ocean. The ocean is green, but it is also blue and grey and smells wonderful. Valor is cursed, which means that no other "yous" except Nergal come here. They are "afraid."

"They" is yet another curious word. It means "you" but many "yous" since apparently "yous" is not a word. The "you" that is called Sonia uses it often. Most often "they" is a "Reeds." The "you" called Sonia spends the time away from Valor with they, Reeds.

Lost in the conflict of pronoun usage versus my limited understanding of the world, I do not take heed to my surrounds. Often, I am so enthralled in my own "thoughts" that I begin to walk in purposeless directions throughout the ancient corridors—this is called "pacing," as in "Limstella, don't pace so." Is it so surprising that I am jarred to reality by the voices of they, Sonia and Nergal? I remain silent, for the conversation is not mine and I have no reason to join. But I do not leave, either. Nergal's displeasure of Sonia is rare and a curiously alluring event to witness.

"I'm _trying_, Lord Nergal! Believe me, none have ever put forth an effort such as I! I am close, so close I can feel it. Ten long years and yet—!"

"Silence."

"Lord Nergal—!"

"Silence! I handpicked that flea-ridden batch of Bernese mongrels, ignorant, self-righteous beasts they were. The time is at hand, Sonia. I can feel it. Only a few scant days until the moon is aligned with the Gate . . . you have until then to completely secure Brendan Reed and the Fang for me. If I cannot find a proper source, the war they bring about will certainly provide."

"I . . . see, my lord. I shall not fail you! Never."

"You have five days before you must return for the first summoning. I must have a specimen before we can come 'close' to fulfilling my purposes."

I can imagine Sonia. Sonia has long dark hair, like me and glassy gold eyes that narrow, most often at me. The "you" called Sonia is disagreeable to everyone but Nergal. I gather that before I came to be, Sonia was Nergal's pet. Did Sonia ever wonder as I wonder? By Sonia's behavior, I can discern nothing of her life before I came into being. I can imagine Nergal, too, standing there, imperiously over Sonia. Nergal is wrapped in black, head half consumed in a curious black lump. I am to understand that the eye beneath is injured, or so Ephidel says. Nergal's hair clings close to Nergal and is green, but not particularly soothing.

Injury is a harm done unto an I by another you. What you would harm someone such as Nergal? I can't imagine such a thing.

There is a pillar that I am standing behind. I am quiet and do not speak. Consequently, they do not hear. I wonder what "Brendan Reed and the Fang" is. I recognize the word "Reed." I have never heard Sonia speak directly of them or any significant you beneath the plural term they. Sonia speaks of them only to Nergal. Sonia does not talk to me. Sonia does not associate with me. I do not know why.

I bite my lip, watching Sonia kneel reverently for Nergal. I've never done that. I wish Sonia would talk to me. The "you" called Sonia is the only one, other than Ephidel, who learns like I do. Who really learns. There are others like me, who look like me and act like I do, but do not learn like me. They are drones to do Nergal's and Sonia's and my bidding. But Sonia hates me and Ephidel is always gone. Besides, Ephidel is too arrogant to talk to for very long.

Nergal dismisses Sonia and disappears in the opposite direction. Sonia looks uncomfortable, distraught, upset. I know many words for that expression, because it is the only one I see.

Sonia notices me and snaps.

"Limstella, you little sneak. Step out from behind that rock, this instant. Honestly, you're twice as annoying as Nino and the two boys combined," Sonia gripes. Nino is a "daughter" of Sonia. A daughter appears to be a constant annoyance to someone. I have never met a daughter. I do not think, from what I have heard, I should like to.

I do not speak, but I do take a small step forward. I hold my hands to my chest and look at Sonia's face. Perhaps Sonia does not like my expression. Sonia has slapped me before, for such an offense.

"What, puppet?" Sonia scoffs. Sonia turns away, Sonia's heels clicking on the stony ground of the Gate. The Gate is massive. The Gate is Nergal's obsession. Sonia seems small compared to the Gate. Does Sonia not realize that we are incomparable to the scale of Nergal's goals? Even I, in my ignorance, know this. "Huh, as I thought. Nothing to say. You're not even remotely alive."

"Alive" is a good word too. I am alive in the sense that I am animated, but "alive" seems to have some mysterious connotation that means that I am not it, according to the disagreeable Sonia. Perhaps I am "lively" which is specifically interpreted as "animated." I do not say that, though. I am silent, and Sonia leaves by simple teleportation. I am alone with my thoughts and my words. It is very quiet, but I don't mind. Quiet doesn't bother me at all.

I turn around and return to the library.

**..0..**

"Time" is a relative concept. "Time" happens to people who pay attention to it. I pay attention to time in what I learn. New words, new books. It takes time, for instance, to read a book. Especially a book of Anima, which even I, a "prodigy," find tedious. Anima is primarily natural magic, which means many references to the ever-popular "fields" and "animals."

There is also "year," and "day," and "hour."

For example, it takes me perhaps an "hour" to read a book. There are twenty-four of these hours in a "day," which is twenty-four books, if I were never to physically tire or become "bored" (yet another excellent concept, if not a pleasurable one) with books. Therefore, in one "year" I could presumably read eight-thousand seven-hundred and sixty books.

But the muscle in my arms aches after maybe two or three hours and cramps not long after that. The words begin running together. I become weary of trying to picture people and places I've never seen. I read, but my imagination cannot possibly produce images of things I've never seen at all.

I'm not sure how many days went by since Sonia left for "Bern," which is an enchanting place that I'd like to see. It is full of mountains. Mountains, as Ephidel haughtily described to me, are massive lumps of rock and stone and sometimes molten red fire, deep inside. They are so high, the snow touches them all year, although I have no clue about "snow." After the description of mountains, I keep to myself. Ephidel is very difficult to listen to, at those times, without becoming indignant or perhaps even angry.

When I do not read, Nergal allows me to wander the isle. I know Valor very well. It is all thicket and sand and stone monuments. "I like," which is a phrase denoting a particular affection to an object or action, to go down to the sand and watch the sea come in, over and over again. Nergal asks me why I do this. I say, "to learn" rather than "I like." Nergal doesn't like it when I say "I like." Not at all.

Accordingly, I will learn today. Nergal tells me not to swim in the ocean. I wonder why. I do not ask, because whoever I ask will be displeased at having to stop their task and tell me. Besides, the only two here I could ask are Nergal and Ephidel, and both are unpleasant when interrupted.

Instead of swimming myself, I shall push a log of driftwood, which are trees that by some chance fell into the sea, and observe its movements. The log is very heavy, but I am stronger than its weight and it is in the water again without another say. Hurriedly, I rush to the vantage of a tall ledge, carved by constant rushing water. That is "erosion."

The log just floats. I am astounded. Surely it would sink, being so heavy? But no. I return to my hierarchy of elements. The log is comprised of earth, which is all things that are neither water nor fire nor air. I can rap it sharply with my knuckles; I can push it across sand; I can even abrase myself upon it. It is heavy and earthen on the outside. Perhaps, within, it is comprised of something much lighter?

"Oh!" I say, lighting upon such an idea. Perhaps it is full of air? That wouldn't account for the heaviness on land, though, and that can't be it. I stamp my foot, something Sonia does when she's dissatisfied. The log is floating away quite rapidly. Well, my initial question has been solved at least. Nergal instructs me not to swim in the sea because I will float away forever.

I imagine briefly Sonia and Ephidel walking into the sea and floating away forever. I banish that image. Without them, I'd have no picture of places foreign to this island, regardless of their temperament.

Still resting upon the grassy ledge, I lie on my belly and watch the blue-grey waves. Today is foggy and damp. It seeps through my clothing and dew makes the cloth stick to my skin. The feeling is only a little uncomfortable. The white froth of the waves makes interesting patterns. Enraptured, the hours pass me by like minutes. It is very dark before I realize it has even passed.

I stand, my front soaked and damp. I am cold, but it doesn't bother me unduly. My body is not always my first concern, unlike Nergal or the other thinking ones. I am more like the drones, I sometimes theorize. Injury and discomfort are insignificant. Perhaps if my brain was injured, I would be concerned or my heart, which maintains me. Nergal is careful to maintain me. For Nergal's sake, I avoid injury. My eyesight is good at night, which is fortunate. I open my eyes wide. This is the first time I have ever strayed so late from the Gate.

There is nothing to fear on Valor, because only Nergal and the drones live here. I have read about fearsome, man (Limstella?) -eating rhinoceroses, but where ever _they_ are, they are not here. I know this because I have been all about the island and not seen a one. I am late, I reason, which is why I run all the way back.

Nergal is waiting for me, not in the least perturbed. Nergal puts a hand on my face. That hand is warm. I assume I must be cold.

"The time has come," Nergal says. "Limstella, I need you to fulfill a purpose for me."

The hand is infused with quintessence. I close my eyes and receive it. I breathe it in deeply. My eyes open. There is no light in the Gate at all. It is deathly cold. I blink and the world shifts.

I do not like quintessence. It is more than "like" could ever denote. I do not know the word to describe how I regard such loveliness. Everything is more brilliant. More delicate. I see the world in strings. The thickest tangles are the Gate. This must be beauty. It appeals to me so.

I turn to Nergal. I will need something greater.

"More . . ." I breathe, weak and shaking with this amazing light. Nergal frowns, the lines becoming deep in Nergal's face. Nergal signals with a beckoning hand and Ephidel steps forth. I had neglected Ephidel. I see Nergal's creation in the light of quintessence. It is obvious. Every creature here is made by Nergal. The threads composing Ephidel are limp.

The threads of the creature, bound at Ephidel's feet, are not. They are vibrant. Pulsating. Warm. Those strings are the "alive" Sonia is so fond of accusing me not to be. I look to Sonia, hidden in the corner with a troupe of drone-retainers. Sonia is no more alive than them.

I kneel. My hands are at the creature's face. A man, whose face I have never seen before. He is awake. He is a "he," not just a you. I was incorrect all this time. It comes to me so suddenly. I look to Nergal. Nergal is ancient. His threads are thin and weak, augmented by the same power that possesses me now. I look up at Ephidel. "He" is made in the image of a man. Sonia is not. The opposite, "she." She is made in the image of a woman. The words come to me so, so suddenly. Is this "revelation?"

I lean down and take the face of the man in my hands. Curious, I brush the hair from his face. He has light blue eyes, but it is hard to tell. I do not think he knows not to be afraid. I smile and he struggles. He bellows foul words that mean "anger, displeasure, or inconvenience." I whisper in his ear and draw back, carrying with me his quintessence. The man relaxes. Before, he was tense, flailing his body to no avail.

What a power! Even more clear were the threads. I could barely see my own hand through them. I moved too slowly, as if through thick mud. The quintessence is a green unlike anything else. This must be a "field," I decide. I push at it, and it rolls aside to admit me.

Nergal commands me, and I realize that above everything, I must obey. The quintessence is his. I am his. I am controlled by the strings that I see, ultimately pulled by him. Nergal does not see them, but his very nature—his weak, frail, human nature—allows him to manipulate me like a puppet.

Just as Sonia says. So this is a "puppet." Humans control puppets. Puppets kill humans. Puppets open doors to different places.

The Gate is large. I am small. I raise my arms and lower them, ripping at the strings tangling there. There is no subtlety. I have no subtlety. The Gate becomes less real, more brilliant. It is quintessence. It shifts, ebbing like waves. Nergal enters. There are drones, infused with quintessence they will use up. The drones will shrivel away, without any semblance of life. I, too, will shrivel away, if I continue. Nergal desires for it to remain open.

He returns. The strings twist and make way for something enormous.

They are giants. They fill the Gate easily. They are two, chillingly cold and ancient.

The strings take hold. The strings across the Gate are different. The strings holding up there are not the same. They are looser. Stronger. The strings of this world constrain upon the Dragons Nergal has summoned forth and they shrink into creatures, foul humanoid creatures, such as myself.

One is small. He is wise in the way that is obtainable only by worry, fear, concern, steeled panic. Hardship is etched in his manner and his face. The larger one is older, female, "she." I am fascinated with her. She is my height and her silvery green hair is of my length. Her eyes are a fantastic red. I loosen my grip on the strings and the Gate closes. The world is less glorious now that most of the quintessence is gone. Sonia's face writhes in distaste.

I know so much more now.

At Nergal's command, I help the female stand. She is lost, and confused, which means "not understanding the situation one has found oneself in." The male stands, adjusting to the difficulty immediately. He places an arm around the female, protective. He bares his teeth to me.

I wait for orders.

"Forgive me," Nergal bows his head. Sonia is even more disgusted. "These are my trusted servants. You may be assured that they would never harm you unless provoked."

"We should go back," the male said, urgently. "Ninian, please. Open the Gate and let us go home."

The female called "Ninian" turned her head, this way and that. I doubt she could see very well at all. She strained to look upon my face. I am fascinated with her, too. She is much different from Sonia, although they are both fashioned after women.

Ninian hobbles toward the Gate. Her balance is bad, and she tumbles; the male is too small to effectively catch her. I hold out my arms and steady her. The male mistakes it for capture. So does Nergal.

"You cannot return now," Nergal says. He takes a step forward. How convenient the word "he" is! I remind myself now is not the time to become consumed in thought. Ninian is trapped in my hold. I am stronger than I seem, for the male tries to break her free and I merely shrug him away.

"Let us go! Ninian, we must flee," insists the male, clawing with his short, brittle nails at the sleeve of my white shirt. She stares up into my eyes, petrified.

Nergal laughs. Ninian begins to sob.

"Limstella, draw forth the dragon stone," he commands. I give him a level stare. Dragon stone? Never mind, I oblige him anyway. Perhaps it will make itself known as I obey. I trust my body, which knows many things instinctively, to perform this mysterious action.

I place my fingertips on Ninian's forehead with purpose. The male shrieks out, "No!" Ephidel maneuvers behind him and holds him there. Ephidel may be stronger than I, for no amount of struggling could free the little male.

I have to quiet all my thoughts, now. She is scared and whimpering. My hair falls on her face, as it is long and unbound. In a moment, I hold something in my hand. I am unsure of its origin, but the action seemed natural to me. The object is round and smooth, a milky blue sphere.

"As you wished, Lord Nergal," I offer the stone to him without hesitation. The little male is cursing us both. Somehow, Nergal's intentions are not to his liking and he voices his displeasure with zeal. Ephidel strikes him, hard enough that the little male loses consciousness. Ninian gasps for breath and suffers a small fit.

It is all as Nergal commanded.

**..0..**

Many books later, they awake as the sun climbs just above the trees. I am seated not far from their little pallets of spare black cloak and cloth. Although my presence is unnecessary, I have developed a fascination with the two creatures, who are unlike anything I have ever seen.

The room Nergal has chosen for them is the least deteriorated in the Gate. Most things here are crumbling, but here it is not so bad. The floor is smooth and tiled with a detailed mosaic that hasn't quite faded yet. The walls, too, are painted, even if it is in worse condition than the mosaic. Everything here is massive. The entry is left wide and open, guarded by four drones of my coloring and shape. They are motionless.

The male awakens first.

I watch intently as he blinks, moaning and rolling. Very suddenly, his eyes, a shade of crimson that I have never seen before, focus and he is alert. Again he bares his teeth, although I am sure the action is futile. The teeth he has are quite blunt and tiny, besides. He realizes this and leans back, away from me.

"Who are you?" he demands. It is not as Nergal demands, sure and commanding; the little male seems far more . . . desperate. "Ninian, quickly! Please wake up, Ninian!"

"No," I say. My voice is hoarse from disuse, I suppose, and it frightens him. "She sleeps so peacefully. Do not disturb her yet."

"Ninian! Wake up!" he ignores my counsel and shakes her awake. She is immediately frightened. As she sits up, she wraps her arms around herself, lost and panicked.

"Nils? Oh, God, Nils, what have I done?" Ninian begins to weep almost instantly. Nils leans over and embraces her. He looks my way. His gaze is venomous.

"You've done nothing wrong, Ninian," he reassures her. "I should have been more cautious. We had no idea. Please, sister . . ."

"What is 'sister?'" I interject. They both tense. Nils takes it upon himself to answer me.

"Ninian is my sister," he says, guardedly. "We have the same mother and father."

"What are those?" I ask him as second time. For the second time, he answers.

"Our parents. They gave birth to us."

"What is 'birth?'"

"No more," Nils shakes his head. He eyes the drones standing guard at the mammoth doorway. "Answer my questions. Who are you? Why were we brought here? Who are they?"

"I am Limstella," I say. It is only fair, I imagine, that he has questions as well as I. "You have been brought here to fulfill Lord Nergal's wishes. They are his servants."

"Let us go!" he pleads, although it is as desperate and angry as anything he has said so far. "We will die if you keep us."

"I cannot," I say. "Lord Nergal has commanded your presence. You must stay. What is 'die?' And birth."

Nils weighs his options. He regards me anxiously, unsure of my constant barrage of questions. I stare at him levelly. I cannot help it if I do not understand some things.

"Birth is the beginning of life," Ninian responds for him. Nils seems shocked. She looks up through her glittery green hair, which is scattered roughly across her face and shoulders. Appealing. Is Ninian beautiful? "And death is the end of it. To be consumed by death is to die."

"I do not understand," I say, tilting my head, as if by looking at her from a different angle would clarify her words in the slightest. "Life is animation of the body, to the meanest extent. Rocks are not alive because they are inanimate. The wind is not alive because it has no body. So says the _Treatise on the Nature of Anima Magicks, _volume four, by Cornelias d'Urtuia. But it seems that there is something more. Are you saying that life has beginning and end? Will there come a time when animation ceases? How does it happen? How does it restart?"

Perhaps Sonia is wrong; perhaps I _am_ alive. I would like to prove her incorrect for once. Ninian shakes her head, trying to answer everything I have asked her.

"There is more to life than animation . . . it begins by a miracle and when it ends . . ." Ninian pauses. There is an impediment to her answer. I am patient and silent. Pressured, she finishes. "And when it ends . . . it can't be restarted . . . oh, Nils . . .!"

She is very delicate, it seems, and begins to sob into her brother's arms. He scowls at me.

"Stop it!" he scolds me. "You're upsetting her. Go away, let us be."

"I want to talk to you," I say in my defense.

"Talk to them, if you want to talk. Let us alone," Nils refers to the drones standing guard. His tone is scornful.

"They don't understand," I protest. Nils turns away from me and whispers comfortingly to his sister. I do not try to speak anymore.

I stand and return to the library, to re-read d'Urtuia's _Treatise_ with my new understandings.

Ninian and Nils do not become any more welcoming to my presence, although I visit them often. I try, also to speaking to the drones. To my surprise, if I repeat something enough, they will return my own words to me. I have named my favorite, a drone in the shape of a man, "Denning," after the author of _Ingald_, which is a storybook of many stories. The titular story concerns the legend of Ingald, son of Barigan.

I tried to show _Ingald_ to Ninian and Nils, but the venture was unsuccessful. Nils, in a fit of rage, ripped out a handful of pages and it was only by the interference of my Denning and some other nameless drones that I managed to wrest the ruined pages from him. After that, I instructed the drones guarding them to say, "It is inadvisable to tear pages from books," at various intervals throughout the day. Nils is difficult to manage sometimes.

Nergal is not at the Gate very often, only now and again to distribute quintessence unto me and his private stores. The "Black Fang" has become a common topic while he is here, and often he refers to it with some pride.

"The Black Fang is under my influence now, my precious Limstella," he remarked merrily one day, as I was arranging the making of a new drone. The mold is often the same. "Sonia has done very well, don't you think?"

"Yes, Lord Nergal," I reply dutifully. His happiness is mine, after all, even if I have no idea what he's speaking of and have no motivation to praise Sonia's work. The empty, stone laboratory is occupied only by the two of us and a group

"And Ephidel's work in Lycia is shaping up beautifully. I have no doubt that we shall have some lovely new quintessence for you! What was the last? Oh, yes, the Count of Eingles," he smirks as he concocts the necessary mixtures. "The Etrurians have always been fools, even that insufferable Elimine. I saw her once, preaching to the masses. She was a fool, too foolish to have such remarkable quintessence as she did. Ah, I could feel it emanate from her like water from a fountain."

I have read Elimine's work. Most of it makes very little sense. Sanctity of life and the holy path are ideas that have no meaning to me. I take the potions that Nergal offers me and pour them into the mold, where they bubble and expand. The color is a nauseous brown. I pull down the mold's lid.

"Why is it, dear Limstella, that the greatest quintessence is harbored in such self-righteous fools?" Nergal asks me. It is rhetorical, but I answer anyway.

"Quintessence gathers where it is needed," I say as the mold slides into the oven. I give one final push and back away as two drones close the great doors and light the fire with a spell.

Nergal laughs, amused by my explanation.

"What a clever little creature you are," he reaches out and ruffles my hair with a brittle hand. I am glad to have pleased someone, at least. I place a hand on the tome of Anima magic on the stone tabletop and direct my other hand in the direction of the oven. With my efforts, the time of process is halved and another drone awakes. There is a special feeling, helping Nergal with his work.

Ephidel, when he returns to report, has become insufferable. He is far too arrogant, speaking of places like Laus, and Pherae. Ephidel gloats of how he has the favor of several great marquesses. A marquess is a ruler of a vast territory, and has much control over the humans there. Soon after Ephidel and his condescension leave, I ask Nergal if I could meet a marquess, one day.

He merely smiles and then vanishes. As much as I live to please Nergal, it displeases _me_ when he teleports without any warning.

In his absence, I go to visit the siblings. They spend most of their days alone together, in their prison. It is dark and silent in the Gate. At least outside, there is the sound of the wind through the trees and the waves upon the sand. There is a feeling in my liver again, this time twisting me to "pity" the two. "Pity" was explained to me by Nils himself, in another scornful tantrum.

I stop at the entry. Their ears are quite sharp, and the two are alert. Nils stares me down rebelliously while Ninian cowers nearby. Nils is by far the most aggressive sibling, despite being younger. He protects his sister with a fervor.

"What do you want?" Nils says guardedly. He is never unalert, it seems. He stands, garbed in the black and gold garments of Nergal's servants. They hang loosely on him.

"Isn't it dark here?" I reply innocently. "Ninian looks sallow. That is unhealthy. I have heard that . . . sunshine is good for the health."

My grasp on the concept of "health" is arguably weak, but it rings true in Nils' mind. Ninian is even weaker than before and she spends most of her time sleeping. I am concerned that she will not be able to serve her purpose to Lord Nergal if her state deteriorates any further.

"So?" Nils asks.

"I go to the ocean at this time of day," I explain, without hesitation. "Would the two of you like to join me?"

Nils becomes more agreeable outside. His first questions: "Where are the birds? Why are there no insects? Are there no people on this island? Any life? At all?"

"Nothing such as those things exist here," I say. He is silent. Ninian is also silent, but for another reason. I can only imagine that she is enjoying the beauty of the island, as I do.

**..0..**

Ninian's complexion becomes fuller and less pale. Although her health improves, I continue her long walks outside, except during bouts of foul weather, which are often on the foggy island of Valor.

I allow Ninian and Nils to wander. There is nothing here, in this empty place to endanger them. They trace the beach, all along it, gathering strips of driftwood. It is comical, to see little Nils and delicate Ninian haul a piece almost as large as the two combined. They bind them on the shore, beneath the little precipice where I stand watch.

"What are you doing?" I ask, with no avail. They pretend not to notice me. I quit asking without fuss. I am not Sonia or Ephidel, to protest their solitary behavior.

I am deeply immersed in _Ingald_, perched on a flat, broad rock suitable for such a purpose as reading. Ninian and Nils are hefting another giant driftwood piece. This is my fifth re-reading; I have to be watchful of the loose pages, rebound to the best of my ability. The stories are familiar to me as my own hands, but even so, I become enthralled each time, following the adventures of the Grey Knight in the "arctic" lands of Ilia (I imagine it to be just like Valor, only colorlessly white. White grass, white leaves, white trees, etc. At least, that how it is described.)

There is much I don't really understand (what is a "farm?"), including old dilemmas (many, _many_ references to the enigmatic concept of a "field.") I ignore the scenery, though, and follow the story, which by much guessing and just inventive imagination, I have put together. It is the only storybook in the entirety of Nergal's library.

Logically, by the time I look up from the book, it is late. I can see stars on the horizon. I fear for Ninian; she is frail, especially in cold weather. I close my book gingerly, and vault over the edge of the cliff to check on them. I bend my knees as my boots sink into the packed, wet sand. The mess of driftwood was gone. The sea came in. It had washed away the tracks of the heavy . . . "raft."

I think of my log of driftwood, the day they arrived. Ninian and Nils have floated away into the sea. And what is the word? It is my "fault."

I hold _Ingald_ to my chest.

What have I done?


	2. The Soaring Hawk

**Right, I totally don't own things like Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken or claim rights to the ideas and characters within this fic. So don't think I do. 'Cause I don't. **

**...00...**

Before, I did not know who Nergal "was."

Nergal was just always there. I did not understand what he was to _me_, a creature born by unnatural means. I know how I was brought to life. I have brought life to others, the drones, the same way. Nergal was my creator, before I could help him, and in his anger, he made it clear that he was also my master, and I his unfaithful slave. We are all his slaves.

Sonia and Ephidel are standing to the side of the Gate. They make a show of being aloof, although they are his precious slaves, too. They sneer at me. I have wronged my master, and they anticipate punishment. I have witnessed punishment of various drones. The drones don't understand it, they don't know why they are being scolded or beaten.

I do not shake or shiver, for all the fear I feel, while approaching Lord Nergal and kneeling at his feet.

"Forgive me, Lord Nergal," I whisper. I am inaudible; Lord Nergal's hearing is not as good as it could have been. I repeat this, louder. "Forgive me, Lord Nergal."

"You have failed me, Limstella," he says. Nergal's brow is deeply folded, his eyebrows like lightning bolts. His rage has not subsided at all. "I leave you to watch and protect the specimens, and after a mere few months, they are lost to me! I must find them again."

He reaches down and grabs me by the hair. I stifle a gasp of pain. I feel the little follicles being ripped out of my scalp. Nergal shakes me violently, quintessence flowing off of his arm. The essence gives him the strength to lift me and hold me motionless, but it doesn't last long at all. Nergal tosses me sharply across the steps and I tumble as best I can. Sonia and Ephidel step forward and I see their faces through my disarrayed veil of hair.

I am shamed and they "like" it. They, Sonia and Ephidel, who have been punished by Lord Nergal many times before for other shortcomings. I struggle, pushing myself up and standing. My scalp stings and my shoulder and hip ache.

"Sonia," Lord Nergal addresses her. He is not given to wallowing in blind anger and immediately sets out to regain what has been lost. "I want the Black Fang's aid. Have them scour the countryside and the cities of Lycia and Bern. The siblings will be heading north, no doubt. Make whatever excuses are necessary."

"I will speak to my husband immediately," she smirks, crossing her arms. Husband? I have never heard her say that word. It sounds distasteful in her mouth. "It will be as you command, Lord Nergal."

"Ephidel, take five flier-morphs and comb the seas. Bribe those pirate mongrels to be watchful for a pair of red-eyed children," Nergal turns to face the Gate. His voice becomes soft. He is thinking of the world on the other side, but Ephidel and Sonia don't know that. "I cannot lose them."

"We shall find them, Lord Nergal," Sonia reassures him with confident words, but she doesn't know why he needs them.

I can't put it into words. Like the quintessence I so crave, I am familiar with Lord Nergal's purpose. Sonia is a fool, and so is Ephidel.

I bow. "Lord Nergal."

"You may leave," he tells Sonia and Ephidel. They pretend not to look at me as they teleport away to their destinations. Teleportation is a simple enough of a trick and I have done it over short distances; across a room, across the isle. I am not jealous, as they want me to be.

He whips around, his black cloak swirling wildly. Nergal's eyes blaze with loathing. "Don't speak, Limstella. I have ruined you enough with your ignorance and now I realize my mistake."

I am not fooled. "Lord Nergal," I repeat. He cuts me off, interrupting my second apology and self-depreciation.

"You need to be educated in the ways of the world," Nergal tells me now. "I see the error in your learning. You are too innocent, here on secluded Valor. How could I have not realized this, my dear Limstella?"

Just like that, I am his beloved pet again. He fixes my hair, for I have not done so. Nergal smooths it affectionately and kisses my brow.

"You shall accompany me when I go to see the King of Bern," he declares. Nergal is smiling merrily now. Already, he has moved past the loss of Ninian and Nils, confident he will have them again. "And you shall follow Sonia to Bern and Ephidel to Lycia. They are your underlings now. I will tell them so. Ah, Limstella, my masterpiece—how could I blame you for your shortcomings? I am as much at fault as you."

"Master," I say. I can say nothing else, can I? I am being "forgiven." Lord Nergal favors me above his beloved Sonia and Ephidel. I picture their sneering faces again, and I find that I am pleased by my new power over them. "Thank you, master."

"There is nothing to thank, Limstella," Lord Nergal dismisses my words with a wave of a hand. He glances toward the laboratory, where drones are constructed. "You were born perfect, and I corrupted you with neglect. Once corrected, you will become perfection, in every way."

"Yes, Lord Nergal," I say, dutifully. Ninian and Nils have served me, although they probably do not think of it that way, escaping from the isle. I am amused by the exchange. I was their key outside the Gate, but now they are mine to off the isle. "What shall I do now, master?"

"You shall read, my clever Limstella," he orders with a thoughtful grin. "About Lycia. I have new tasks for you."

Days pass. I no longer wander the isle and watch the seas quite as often. I have a purpose to fulfill, for the merciful master that forgave me. I read every book I can find even mentioning Lycia in the margins. _Ingald_ gathers dust in the far corner of Nergal's library, which he soon gifted to me anyway.

Lycia is a federation of smaller territories, governed by the Marquesses I have heard of from Ephidel. The territory Ephidel visits most often is Laus, known for its agricultural blessings of clear water and good soil. The Marquess, a human named Darin, rules it with a firm hand and Ephidel has pushed his thoughts to war.

Ephidel is often at the side of Marquess Darin, but equally as often, he is commanding the Black Fang. Lord Nergal has ordered him to instruct me in the politics of his, and Sonia's, operations.

The Black Fang began as a gaggle of vigilantes avenging the deaths and losses of those who had been wronged by corrupt rulers. Their first successful operation was to dispose of a young, black-hearted duke in Bern of a small territory by the ocean called Argeshire. Led by a man called Brendan Reed, they grew impossibly fast, rooting deeply in eastern Lycia and Bern in a mere five years.

At around that same time Lord Nergal needed a powerful, secretive ally to accomplish his goals. Sonia was sent to speak with Reed, who took a lust for her. At the order of Lord Nergal, she exploited the fact and "married" Brendan Reed, which means she became tied to him by law. Using her leverage, she installed Lord Nergal's drones into the ranks of the Fang and moves it in the directions she wishes. The Black Fang is her puppet, now.

All this was told to me, in painstaking detail, by Ephidel, my new teacher. He is irked by his servitude to me, but I delight in it. Ephidel is knowledgeable, if absurdly arrogant. I like to put him into his place, reminding him between my endless questions that he is bound to answer them.

Sonia, too, is irritated by my sudden elevation in rank. I bombard her with endless questions, as well. A "field" is a large expanse of grass or some similar substance like snow (white and cold water frozen into powder) or sand. In the case of "rolling fields," it is shallowly hilled. I anticipate seeing one. Bern and Lycia are full of them, says Sonia, begrudgingly.

My games with Denning have expanded from repetition of words to phrases and responses, although it is still mostly mechanical.

"Good morning, Denning," I say, practicing the conversational skill I will no doubt need in Lycia.

"Good morning, Limstella," Denning replies, as I have instructed him. "How are you today?"

"Very fine," I say, and I pat him on the head for being obedient. Denning follows me everywhere now. I gave him a bow to act as my protector, although Nergal promises a guard all my own. I already have some favorites picked out, but of course Denning will head it.

Our conversation is cut short, interrupted by the peculiar _click-clack_ of Sonia's heeled shoes. I turn to the wide arched doorway of the library, and it is not Sonia who is dwarfed by the enormous architecture, but a slim human lady. Her blue hair is cropped short to her jaw and she is decked in purple and gold. Her expression has the same subtle distaste of Sonia.

"My name is Ursula," she says, somewhat perfunctorily. Her movements are more forthcoming than Sonia and Ephidel's. There is fluidity to the way she walks. "I have a message from Lady Sonia to Limstella. Are you Limstella?"

I nod, trying to mimic some of that flowing motion. "I am called Limstella. Why are you here?"

"I told you," Ursula frowns, and there is validity in the expression. I am fascinated. "I deliver a message from Lady Sonia."

"The isle," I clarify. "Why are you on Valor?"

"Lord Nergal has installed members of the Black Fang on the Dread Isle to supplement his own forces in case of an assault," she replies. This is hardly surprising, now that I take the time to think on it. Drones take time, one by one. Human soldiers are in far greater supply, according to what Ephidel has told me.

"Are you a Black Fang?"

"I am one of the Four Fangs," she informs me, arrogant as Ephidel and twice as indignant. "Lady Sonia sent me to bring you forth. She desires for you to appear at the north ruins."

Ursula's mouth stumbles around the location. It's probable she has no idea where the north ruins are at all. I have never seen her on the isle, but with my recent isolation and immersion into the subjects of Lycia and Bern, I could have just missed her arrival. I stand and motion for Denning to stand as well. I memorize her stance, feet slightly together and arms gathered at the waist. I want to try it later.

"Then I will go," I decide. Sonia's sudden desire to talk to me must be ordered by Lord Nergal. "Is there anything else?"

". . . no," she says succinctly. Ursula turns and her heels click against the stone of the Gate, exactly like Sonia's. She pauses. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," I murmur, and Denning and I take wider strides to catch up.

Ursula is unfamiliar with the landscape and she keeps pausing to record it in a little book of hers. Combined with the unsuitability of her clothing to the terrain, walking with Ursula to the north ruins takes time. I strive to be infinitely patient, like Denning, who merely stares into the denseness of the woods. This is a feat I can hardly manage, but I envision Sonia fuming impatiently and it makes the slow progress bearable.

I watch jealously as Ursula recognizes things that took me ages to identify from my books. It is truly amazing that she can identify something she does not recognize. The plants, the ruins, the land . . . she does, however, ask me the same thing Nils asked.

"Why are there no animals here?" Ursula mutters, skillfully scribbling in her little recordbook. She sketches a quick rendering of a type of flower, blue with stinging thorns, that is common here.

"Animals?"

"You know. Beasts. Insects. Birds," she provides useless examples. I have read about beasts, but the pictures my mind assembles from the descriptions look like parts of drones that have been reconstructed with four legs, eight eyes, wider arms. "There aren't even gulls on this island."

"Gulls." She just keeps naming things that have no meaning. I want to ask her more, but she puts the little book away into a decorated purse and just keeps moving. I point the way silently. Ursula is not interested in maintaining a conversation with me.

The north ruins do not come into view until we stand at the steps, the trees are so thick here. I motion for her to be careful and tread softly. The stone here is battered considerably. Under the cover of the dome roof, which is mostly interwoven branches, Sonia stands. She is yelling out orders to human soldiers, coordinating them.

At her side is another human of rank. He wears clothes that are different from Ursula's and mine, and a thick cloth over his head. His skin is the darkest color I've ever seen. He addresses me silently with his eyes. The way he moves is as fascinating as Ursula's.

"Crow," he bows his head in reverence to Ursula. She wrinkles her nose. Why is that?

"Lady Sonia, I have brought Limstella," Ursula bows formally. Sonia glances at me.

"Eh," she brushes her black hair off her shoulders. "Thank you, Ursula. Limstella, this is Uhai, the Soaring Hawk. He will be the Black Fang's representative to Lord Nergal. He will be replacing you as guardian of Valor."

I had no idea that I was responsible for the island. "Where am I to go?"

"Lycia, with Ephidel. To speak with Marquess Laus," she says, but I suspect there is something beneath her words that Uhai is not to know. He looks directly into my eyes, unflinchingly. He has nothing to hide.

"Where is Ephidel?" I look around for him. He isn't under the canopy here.

"In Lycia! He'll be here in a matter of days. In the meantime, Lord Nergal has requested that you introduce Uhai and his men to Dread Isle. The Black Fang must be familiar with this territory as soon as possible," Sonia crosses her arms, as is typical of her. "I am returning to Bern with Ursula. We've found the siblings' trail. Ursula will be tracking them with a small band of men. We'll catch them soon enough."

I nod, and her gaze bores into me. Of course, she still blames me for the loss of the siblings. Uhai turns to me and makes a fist, saluting sharply at shoulder level.

"Yes, Lady Sonia. I will serve you both," Uhai says. His words are plain and harsh, but easy to trust. I prefer Uhai more than Ursula, even if she is more graceful.

Sonia waves a hand to dismiss us both and leaves. Ursula follows closely, imitating Sonia as best she can. Uhai snorts, a derisive sound. He doesn't approve of either woman, but doesn't try to hide it. I can tell that he is not exactly approving of me, either.

Standing here is awkward, for Uhai's men won't stop staring. I can tell they don't know what to make of me, but I don't know what to make of them, either. Most of them are dressed the same way as Uhai, with thick, brightly colored fabric and embroidered with squares or points at the trim. And all through the encampment, there were . . . beasts.

"What is this?" I point to the beast beside Uhai. It is a dull grey, with a long face and nose. The back is long and it is armless, with four long, bony legs. Over its tall sides is draped a peculiar blanket decorated same as Uhai's clothes.

"My horse," he says warily. He does not try to elaborate.

"What's it for?" I prod him verbally. I am fascinated with this beast. It shifts its weight impatiently as I step closer. Uhai extends an arm to halt me.

"_He_ carries me in battle," he says, protecting it from any damage I might do. "His name is Sabara."

"Sabara," I utter, matching the name to this particular "horse." There were several "horses," but this was the only one named Sabara, like I was the only creature named Limstella, although there are several drones that look similar to me.

"Yes," Uhai replies, a little more friendly. The topic of Sabara is a comfortable one and I exploit that fact. "Sabara means 'swift as an eagle' in the Djute dialect."

"Djute," I repeat. Looking to him, I pause. Part of me wants to reach out and touch Sabara, as if that will prove his existence. Uhai's expression changes, slightly. The corners of his mouth are upturned, just a bit.

"Go ahead, he won't mind," Uhai nods. He reaches out and guides my hesitant hand to Sabara's long, warm neck. "Just be calm. I come from the Djute tribe in Sacae."

"Sacae," I say, caught up in stroking the beast, if only in little circles. "Between Bern and Ilia . . . the Djute live there with horses . . ."

"That is right," Uhai nods. I can tell from his eyes. He approves of me. "You are nothing like Sonia and the others. Let me tell you something. In Sacae, a man introduces himself by himself. I am Uhai, the Soaring Hawk of the Black Fang."

"Well met, Uhai," I bow my head. The line is from _Ingald_, a common phrase used to greet strangers and old friends alike. "I am Limstella."

Uhai is often silent, and spends many hours with his men, devoting only a small portion to me and examining the isle with my guidance, and often we are not alone. He is always tailed by one or two of his Sacaen brethren, who follow not far behind him as we cross the dense forest. His questions are practical and his replies succinct.

Sacae is never far from his thoughts.

Sacae, Sacae, whenever he describes his homeland, Uhai is captured by a great passion and a great longing. Vast fields, with thousands of small creatures and birds hiding in the grass. He is pleased when I say that it sounds lovely and that I hope to one day see it. Uhai promises that if I am ever sent to the fields of Sacae, he would not hesitate to be my guide, as I am to him. He has no doubt that the song of Sacae will ensnare me entirely, for I am like no other person he has met.

I like Uhai, for while he is not taken to speech very often, he is extremely informative and kind. There is a sense of nobility in him that has nothing to do with the bloodlines that I read of. I teach Denning to imitate his low, husky voice, which is both amusing to the nomadic man and unnerving.

Valor is tricky for horses to traverse, since there are so many thickets and dense woodland areas. Uhai asks me to teach him the best paths to take on horseback. I trace the isle in my mind before I light upon an idea.

After night falls, I search for parchment, some of Lord Nergal's that he uses for new drone designs and spells. Finding it is fairly easy, for I'm the one who stashes it away in a dry nook in the laboratory. After spreading it out on the floor of the library, weighing the corners with books, I begin to copy the isle, tree for tree, brook for brook. I do not tire easily, but in the morning my eyes are sore and heavy.

"Uhai?" I call into the northern ruins as the sun rises. Usually, his men can be seen fixing up. He requires a high level of organization. But the encampment is empty. The fires have burned out, although the ashes are not yet cold. "Uhai, it is I, Limstella."

Even the horses aren't here. I try to listen for Sabara's tell-tale whinny, but I hear nothing.

"Uhai! Uhai?" I attempt once more. Useless. He is not here.

I feel a tug. It wraps around my belly and pulls, just so. Lord Nergal is calling. When did he return? Surely not last night. I hold the rolled map to my chest and teleport to where Lord Nergal calls me.

It is the steps of the Gate, the wide, sweeping stairs. The Gate can never be described as gigantic enough. It is immense beyond all telling. I step from the shadows to where Lord Nergal is standing before Uhai and a line of human men under his command.

I do not react outwardly, but I am confused. Between my master and Uhai lies a man, bound hand and foot. I recognize him as Fasa, a nomad from the same tribe as Uhai. His bandanna has been torn from his dark green hair and is gagging his mouth. A strange feeling takes a hold of me and I fear for Fasa. He has never been unkind to me.

"Yes, my master?" I utter. Nergal does not look directly at me, but gestures broadly at Fasa.

"I found this man trespassing upon the Gate," Nergal stated mercilessly. I knew at once he was enraged, although his voice remained quite leveled and cool. "In direct disregard of my orders."

Lord Nergal allowed the Black Fang to know of his whereabouts and supplied them with drone after drone, but specifically commanded the privacy of the Gate. Desperately, I try to think of some way to save Fasa from Lord Nergal's wrath. I will not lie, for that would damage the honor Uhai took pains to explain to me. It would shame Fasa to live by a lie. I remain silent.

"He is therefore a traitor and traitors deserve only death," Nergal's voice echoes within the stone walls. Lord Nergal raises his hand abruptly and by the power of magic, Fasa's whole body is jerked upwards. All the humans present gasp in amazement and fear, even Uhai. Lord Nergal's resolve is firm.

I cannot save Fasa from death, but perhaps . . .

Honor, Uhai explained to me one night by a campfire, was the staple of the Sacaen way of life. To be without honor was to be dead anyway. Because of honor, no Sacaen would lie, cheat, steal or go back on his word. Fasa broke a law and would die for it. But even a criminal or a traitor could die honorably. It was a right granted by Father Sky himself, the wise and good Sacaen god, to all men.

"How would you render punishment, dearest Limstella?" Nergal sneers softly at the bound man.

". . . combat."

My voice is weak, and Nergal glances at me questioningly.

"Do not stutter, my pet," he coerces me, frowning. "Speak clearly."

"I would kill him combat," I repeat, enunciating. Louder, I address everyone present. "His bow against my magic."

Nergal is intrigued. In his mind, I know, there is no doubt that I would defeat Fasa with ease. I see in Fasa's eyes a spark of hope; a death in honorable combat, guaranteeing a peaceful afterlife, as the wind across the plains. Uhai is tense, awaiting Nergal's final statement.

"Interesting decision, Limstella," Nergal says thoughtfully. His hands extend and he summons forth a thick tome. It appears there, first a rune, then the entire tome. It is passed then to me. "I agree."

I stare at the book of magic in my hands. Uhai clucks his tongue and gestures to his remaining men. Three step forward, only one of which I recognize immediately. They untie Fasa's hands and feet, but hold him tightly in case he should bolt. It is unnecessary. His eyes are fixated on me. I am soon to be his killer.

Life and death, the topic of many conversations with Ninian and Nils, had always ended with Ninian shaking and tearful. Death, I understood now, is difficult to mete out. I know that the Count of Ingles, a county of southern Etruria, died by my hand, but the quintessence fused in me then blocked my consciousness.

"Bring him horse and bow," Nergal commands finally, amused by my choice. The silence could not have lasted any longer than a few seconds, but I feel that it has gone on for hours. "And fill his quiver. He shall have every chance."

Lord Nergal leans to whisper to me softly. "As he dies, take his quintessence, as meager as it is. We won't waste this opportunity."

I nod obediently. "Yes, Lord Nergal."

In the foggy midday, for the sun rarely shines bright here, I stand opposing Fasa. He is mounted on a tall, bay horse named Katti. We stand at the shore, the clearest area on Valor to fight. The sea ebbs in and out. An execution would not silence it, after all.

All around us are Uhai, his men, and some of Lord Nergal's drones, including my Denning. Lord Nergal smirks and then bids us to begin.

Fasa, I realize immediately, is experienced against anima magicians, like myself. His first move is to fire an arrow, then a second. Fimbulvetr, the dark blue tome in my hands is heavy, and I clutch it as I skirt out of the way of both Katti and the bolts. I do not need to open the tome. The knowledge is implanted in my brain already and the chant forms itself on my lips.

His horse rears, struggling to avoid the blast of ice-cold magic. Fasa grunts, only just staying on. He shifts his legs, a command to the animal. It is no use to constantly change ground, for our arena is small.

I chant quickly, repeating the spell. My aim improves and the spell collides into both rider and steed. Fasa cries out, a wordless grunt as Katti takes the brunt of Fimbulvetr.

Lord Nergal was correct in assuming that I could and would make short work of Fasa. Katti lay dead, frozen into a contorted shape on her side. I advance toward Fasa. His right arm lies limp and broken, solidly frozen into a strange, unnatural position. To his credit, he hasn't given up.

As I approach, dutifully chanting the killing spell, he groans, desperately scooting across the short grass and sand. He fumbles for something, buying time. All those eyes, the eyes of Lord Nergal, Uhai, the Black Fang and the drones, watch us as our "combat" concludes. I stand over Fasa, nearing the end of Fimbulvetr's invocation chant.

Using only his legs, he propels himself upward, the blade of short hunting knife aimed at my shoulder. I gasp as it slices through skin. I reach with my opposite arm, dropping the tome suddenly, and grip the frozen, stone-hard muscle of his right arm and change the incantation. Leaning forward, I allow my hair to blow across his face in the sea breeze.

His tanned skin pales. Fasa's face becomes a mask of shock, but then relaxes. Infused with the life energy of the nomad, I blast him away with another shot of ice-magic. His body is encased in ice and shatters cruelly across the ground into five or six large chunks. The bones snap like glass.

There is no immediate response. Uhai eventually commands his remaining men to throw Fasa's broken, freezing body into the sea, along with the corpse of Katti, his beloved horse. Although his soldiers return quickly to the northern ruins, and Lord Nergal disappeared not long after Fasa's death, Uhai remains looking out onto the ocean.

"Uhai?" I ask, speaking softly. He will speak with me after this, he will tell me.

"Limstella," the nomad acknowledges me, speaking softly too. I pull the gently folded map of Valor from my coat where it has been hiding.

"I made this for you," I say, unfolding it. "For when I leave tomorrow."

Uhai takes his time examining it. He traces his rough, callused fingers across the trails of clearest land and the thickest woods, the snarled tree that marked the way to the northern ruins and the Gate. He swallows, standing silently for a long time, but I can tell he is grateful for not only the map. Uhai folds the map and bows to me, bending from the waist.

I have questions, of course, but that action silences me. I am learning without words.

I learn so much from Uhai in less than ten days that when Ephidel comes to fetch me, I become sad. A Sacaen custom, when leaving friends behind, is to grant them a gift. I leave Uhai with not only the map of Valor, but some of the cleverer drones and a tome of Nosferatu.

"For Akai," I say, elaborating on the tome. The shaman from Sacae often felt ostracized from his comrades, according to Uhai, because he practiced deep, ancient magic. I stood at the shore of the island, bidding him and his men farewell. Ephidel is impatient. "May he have a use for it."

"Many thanks, Limstella, for everything you have granted us. I have no gifts for you, honorable warrior, so may you accept my apologies," Uhai bows his head, and raises his bow-hand, his right. The wind blows his clothes and hair about. "May Father Sky rain down a thousand blessings on you."

I say nothing in return, for I could not say anything that would not seem—seem what? I do not understand, but I feel that something wrong has happened here. I panic. No, this isn't how it is supposed to feel. Sorrowed, yes, for leaving a friend, and pleased, yes, for leaving him a gift. But the very presence of those feelings is wrong.

A travesty I had not noticed yet.

I spin on my heel and hurry across the plank up to the Black Fang ship before it is pulled aboard. Ephidel snorts, and gestures for me to come with him below decks, to get out of the way of both the drones and the humans who were busily setting sail. A ship was used to cross oceans now, instead of teleportation, to trick the humans. Humans like Uhai and his men.

I can't bear to look back at Uhai and see his passive, puzzled face. My fingers dig deep into my palms.

"Hurry now, Limstella," Ephidel commands sharply. I comply wordlessly, and await the orders of Lord Nergal, who I serve unconditionally.

**...00...**

**Hiya, it's Meelu again. No, I totally swear that next update will be Ice Girl, even if you don't care at all what I do! Heehee. Um, let's see.**

**Servant of GOD: Nice to see you too, hon. Limstella fiction and art altogether is pretty rare. I hope to illustrate this soon with a few sketches and colored drawings, to add to this.**

**Lord Ma-koto Chaoying: Thank you for the compliment! Limstella, as defined in the FE 6&7 artbook has no gender, which will come up soon. I wonder why s/he/its portrayed as a female sage? Will questions never cease.**

**R Amethyst: Ah-ha, you fell for my reverse psychology! My master plan is working! Heehee, just kidding. Thank you for the suggestion, "Construct" isn't my favorite title ever.**

**Snoopy6458: The grammar fairy hates me, seriously. No matter how hard I re-read stuff . . . but thanks anyway. If it doesn't stand out, odds are I'm not gonna see it. If you see something, don't hesitate to point it out, ever. God knows I do it to everyone else I know.**

**Wandering Cat: Finally, someone who shares my desire to have Limstella on their team! That's awesome! Unlearned is a word by the way. The particular word that you're looking for is "ignorant," maybe? If you're like me, you probably realized it the moment you posted. Thanks! **

**Rouge warrior: EliwoodxLimstella is kind of weird and difficult to manage, especially since they don't "meet" in character very often. Oh well, I'm a big fan of digging my own grave.**

**Miss Krux: Thank you! Yeah, I kind of assumed that s/he/it would be all knowing and stuff. Limstella's death quote is my favorite and it made me wonder how s/he/it felt about being Nergal's puppet.**

**Jordan: Thank you very much. I hope you like this chapter as much as the first.**

**I'm so glad I don't get many reviews, it would make that a whole lot more difficult. I like thanking people, truly, but sometimes . . . eh! So remember, reviewing is only for squares.**

**You heard me! Squaaaaaaaaaares!**


	3. The Marquess Laus

The majority of the Black Fang leave me on my own aboard this ship. They have other things to do than answer the questions of a slight-figured creature like myself. Even the drones assigned to work as sailors have added muscle and endurance, which I myself did not foresee, despite my endless tinkering with their capabilities.

Denning recites a passage of _Ingald_ from memory to the other drones and myself. His voice still mimics Uhai's, and I close my eyes, leaning against a corner in the dark, stinking room Ephidel has shuttled us into. I can remember reading it aloud two or three times for Denning to remember. Repetition has made him a quicker study than other drones.

"We don't want the sailors getting curious about you," Ephidel explains this isolation, but I cannot help but feel he just does not want to deal with me.

I sit with my back against a shifting wall, knees curled to my chest. The phenomenon of boredom takes its swift hold, and I must force myself to listen to Denning's voice. The Grey Knight's exploits fill my mind, accompanied by scenery and understanding. It is far more entertaining, to know exactly what the Great Knight Barigan is galloping across (fields) upon his steed, Perseus (horse) to defeat the demonic dragon Nonaleen and save Aglaia (woman), the mother (life-giver, which is the closest definition I can coax out of anyone, including Uhai) of Ingald, the Grey Knight.

By the time we reach the dragon's lair, though, Ephidel barges through the hatch and charges down the steps to me. His expression betrays him. Instead of humbly beseeching me to stand, Ephidel would much rather grab me by the hair and shake me. Something has sparked his ire. I have nothing to fear, but Ephidel is most tiresome to deal with when mad.

I bid Denning to cease his recitation and stand before Ephidel can request it. I am silent, awaiting further instruction from Lord Nergal.

"Limstella, gather your things," Ephidel gestures to the clutter of drones. He means nothing else. Other than my tomes, I have no other possessions. "We're in a place called Badon. This is a port, where ships dock and load."

Ephidel, despite his distaste for my questions, has comfortably falling into the pattern of conveniently telling me every detail before I ask. He has his uses.

I gesture to my drones, and they stand as well. Denning walks close behind me as I mount the stairs to the deck. The rest of the hooded drones and then Ephidel appear from the hatch, a congregation of black clad figures, almost indiscernible from each other. Ephidel has put up his hood. I frown in displeasure, copying the woman Ursula's expression as well as I can.

"I don't have a hood," I prompt Ephidel, and he hushes me rudely, with a wave.

"You don't need one, Limstella," Ephidel hisses, disguising his voice as something sweet and cloying. Again, to fool the Black Fang humans.

"Why do I not require one, Ephidel?" I ask, as is usual of me. His eyes glare at me, shining from under the shadows of his cowl.

"Because you do not need one, Limstella. Don't argue with me. Do you understand?" Ephidel repeats. His false voice is waning to his irritation. "Come, we must prepare for the next leg of our journey."

He pushes me toward the plank the sailors have laid out. I cross it, trying with some difficulty not to look down upon the sea below me while keeping my eyes on the shifting plank. My balance had accustomed itself to the rolling waves and jolts a ship succumbs to out on the open ocean. The gentle dock, and even worse, the land . . .

I stagger about for a second or two before Denning appears, and I grip his dark robes and shoulders steady myself. Denning is wholly unaffected. I am somewhat envious.

Ephidel also descends with grace. I don't think he would allow himself to descend any other way. I release Denning, gaining my own balance at long last. I allow myself to behold the world before me. It is breathtaking, overwhelming, beautiful and stinking, all at the same exact instant. And that same instant continues, but constantly changes.

I am fascinated. If Ephidel were not here, if Nergal's orders didn't hang over my head, I would be dragging Denning through each and every facet of this incredible place, interrogating each and every human here. Humans! I am fascinated with every aspect of humanity. It is so enrapturing. How can that woman frown so passionately, handling fish I have never seen, not once in my life, but have read and poured over endlessly in the confines of my island library? I even envy her frown, her meaty face doubled over, creasing her cheeks, pursing her lips.

There, a boy is piping away, a merry tune like the ones Nils often sang aloud when he thought I was unaware. A young girl with flowing blue curls is toting a gaggle of children with her, a basket of fruit in her arms. Her figure is thicker than mine, her arms more muscular. She calls out to a little girl, with similar blue hair winding around her head in plaits; her voice is sweeter and harsher than mine, both at once.

Ephidel's impatience reaches new heights, and his jerk on my arm very nearly dislocated the joint. I do not yelp, as the little girl does (my eyes are still on her, the older girl has tugged at her wrist the very same way), but I feel that I should. The reaction is delayed, although I.

"Ow," I say, making sure Ephidel can hear me clearly. His frown is a little dull compared to what marvelous expressions of disgust that I have seen in the few moments I have been in the land of Badon.

"Be still, Limstella," he mutters. We are alone now, despite being surrounded. I can only assume that the humans are so involved in their fascinating lives to pay attention to our words. I know that I would pay no heed to Ephidel if I could.

"It hurts," I continued. My voice does not convey the same quality as the little girl's, I can tell that right away. I try again. "It _hurts_, Ephidel. Do not handle me so."

Ah! My voice is too bland, to much of a straight line to compare to the wavering voice of the little human. I cannot copy it just yet. I resolve to at least try.

"Be still, Limstella, or I swear I'll leave you here," Ephidel replies coldly, his hand clenched around my wrist like a vise. I wish he would, but if I were to lose my way or become consumed in learning (however preferable that option is) I would not be able to serve Lord Nergal to the fullest, which is my purpose.

So I follow Ephidel. He's been this way before, tracing his way through the edifices and makeshift stands. I trail after him, pulled along by the hand. By now, we're all getting strange looks from various humans. Although I enjoy examining them, I feel my muscles twitch when their eyes pass over me, my face, my body, all constructed in a manner much different from theirs. Without a hood I feel exposed. My hair is my only cowl, so I tilt my chin to my chest and let that shield my face from view.

I once thought of cutting all my hair away, so it could not drift in the pages as I read. I do not think I will ever consider that option again.

When we finally stop, it is before a shabby building sunk deep between two others, both much taller. Ephidel raps on the door once, then twice. He waits a moment, and then raps again. The door opens, a tiny bit, allowing for an eye to peek through. The crack widens, revealing a mangy looking drone, who admits us in. My own drones file in, occupying a good portion of small space. They shuffle around, searching for a feasible formation.

Ephidel nods to the drone, who stands outside the door, guarding it. The tiny room provided a space to conjure the teleportation spell for multiple people, I now understand. Ephidel specialized in it, but I could barely transport both myself and Denning five feet before losing concentration. Humans, apparently, could not witness this.

A wide circle appears beneath our feet. Ephidel chants monotonously, his true nature as a drone revealed. I say nothing, and we disappear in a flurry of draconic runes.

Teleportation makes my entrails swirl inside me. While I recognize the practicality of teleportation, I cannot help but detest such disconcerting feelings. One moment continues on, seemingly forever. I cannot describe the sensation fully, not in words; it is like quintessence, that sense. It is old magic, old as the dragons, this business of moving about.

We arrive in a shroud of similarly blinding light. To greet us is a impressive figure in painted yellow-green armor, a sickly sort of color. His cape reaches the rich carpet of what resembles, in part, Nergal's grandest study, the one I am only allowed in by invitation. There are more maps, though, here, and far fewer books, and no sketches of drones' anatomy and runic circles. A crest adorns the wall, matching the one on the man's massive ring.

The ring clings to Marquess Laus' finger jealously as he extends his welcome to Ephidel. He hardly glances my way; I am just another drone to him.

"Ephidel," he greets, his voice thick with ambition. He wants something from Ephidel. This is greed, I suppose. Greed is not an emotion I envy humans of. It sounds cumbersome, and almost always contributes to one's downfall.

As the Marquess Laus and Ephidel spoke, I recollect the day, standing stolidly off to the side. I have no interest in the political machinations of Ephidel and this Marquess disappoints me. I follow his eyes as they dart around the room, quick and alert. My drones' eyes do not waver so much. Their gaze is steady and slow, analyzing everything, each possible detail.

So is my own stare, I suppose. I look just like my drones, with my long jet hair and golden eyes, set into a white complexion. Ephidel's eyes are a little quicker, from his exposure to humans, and Sonia's, now that I have reference, move fastest of all, darting and narrowing with astonishing celerity.

My slow eyes are fast enough to catch sight of another pair of eyes, peering from a door on the far side of the room. I fidget to get a better look, but those same eyes—and an overlarge nose, matching the Marquess'—see me, too, and disappear. I return to my attention to Ephidel and the Marquess. The two of them are crouched over a map on desk, made of a pretty red-brown wood, enthusiastically pointing at locations and muttering names.

One name strikes my interest.

"Marquess Pherae only recently sent his approval," Laus says to Ephidel. His voice has eager overtones. "I have it here, if you would like to verify it yourself."

"No, I do not think it necessary," Ephidel waves a hand, the first sign of white from the folds of his black cloak. "Pherae's support will sway many others. They trust that fool Elbert."

Trust, over and over again. They talk of it like a disgusting flaw. What does it mean in this context? All I know is that Nergal seeks quintessence, and quintessence comes from humans. He seeks dragons, with that quintessence. This conspiracy that I do not fully comprehend, although Ephidel has taken pains to explain it to me.

Laus is weak. Or at least, the Marquess is. Some humans succumb to their greed more easily than others, and this Marquess Laus is one such man. With Ephidel's saccharine promises of power, control of all of Lycia, Laus is moving towards rebellion against Ostia, the most powerful of the Lycian territories. To do that, they must involve more territories in complex, secret alliances . . .

I do not want to call it boring. The movements of human government interest me only to a degree, as Nergal provides all the authority I need.

Ephidel continues this for hours at a time, neglecting me and my drones. I stand with my back against a wall, immovable. I am thinking.

I left Uhai in confusion. I cannot explain this in words, nor more than old magic or quintessence, but I feel it strongly, so strongly it would rip me asunder if I were to let it. I was wrong, to call Uhai a friend, and to care to leave him gifts. I don't know how. But there is an old voice—ancient, creaking, decrepitly old voice—whispering to me, telling me that I am wrong, that I am an obscenity, a travesty, a curse, an abomination. For once, it is not Sonia.

I carry this thought with me as we exit the war room, the name of that tedious place, and move into more relaxed spaces. Ephidel allows me to wander as I please, provided I do not leave the castle, and that I do not take a drone, other than Denning.

The room he deposits me in is well-decorated, if not ornate, and sunny. There is a window, wide enough for me to stand in alongside Denning and another drone and tall enough for none of us to bump our heads. I am only interested by the wonders of this small room for so long; there are no books, but a bed that I will not use and a desk that I will not write upon. I turn to Denning and motion for him to rise.

He follows me through the door and through the spacious halls, which are rather drab and cramped compared to the cavernous Gate. The sunlight I see through the narrow windows is brighter than that of the isle's. A human woman passes, carrying a load of folded, thick sheets. She stares wide-eyed at me, alert to any danger, much like Uhai and the others did.

All the humans I meet do so, although I only pass one more after the woman. There was variation in humans. Color. Uhai's dark skin, Ursula's blue hair. All the eyes in the world were different, as far as I could tell; of every shade conceivable . . . humans were put together in fascinating ways, so different from the drones of the isle, which were clumsily manufactured in their image. Although the halls are mostly unoccupied, I can hear dim sounds. I take smaller, quieter steps. I hear voices.

Creeping around a corner—I can hear Ephidel's voice—I slowly inch my head to spy on him. He speaks in hushed tones, to a human woman. I am immediately fascinated with her hair, wrapped in a magnificently complex braid at the back of her neck. It is as green as Uhai's. Her dark body is tough and coiled in places where my own is thin and brittle. But there is something wrong with her; I stare at her for several seconds before realizing her right arm does not move of its own accord. The appendage hangs loosely by her side, and every jostle causes her face to tighten.

I hear Ephidel call her Aesha.

"Are you sure, Dame Aesha?" Ephidel speaks softly. I can almost see his brow furrowing, beneath the hooded cloak, from behind his back. "Why did you not go immediately to Ursula? She's the one concerned with these matters."

"Dame Ursula is already in Araphen, sir," Aesha reports. Her voice has a smooth, low quality that I like, in spite of the tension. It reminds me of my Sacaen friend on Valor, despite the different stresses of the vowels. "It would take days of non-stop riding for me to reach her from here. I assumed you would have a faster method of contacting her."

The mention of Ursula's name intrigues me. The last I had heard of her, she'd been sent to track the siblings' routes through Lycia.

"Where did you hear this information?" Ephidel asks. I am curious, too, especially since I have heard nothing of Ninian and Nils since they escaped me. Secretly, perhaps even to myself, their condition concerns me. I wish they would return. Ninian is so fragile, I feel she might break in strong sunlight like this.

"In the court of Caelin," Aesha says, her voice firm. Ephidel does something to make her continue with her speech. "The Lord Lundgren there has heard word from his spies."

"I last heard Lundgren was only concerned in matters of ascension and his grandniece."

"He seemed attentive when I informed him of brewing rebellion. Perhaps he is longing for more, just like the Lord Darin. I persuaded him to send his network after the lost ones too. Just recently they returned."

"And?"

"The two are posing as minstrels, in Khathelet. Heading north."

"Ah," Ephidel chuckles. I can see his lips curl into a grin of satisfaction, the only real emotion he's mastered. "Just as we predicted. Good. I will contact Ursula immediately. She will give chase. In the meantime, return to the base and receive your dues."

"Yes, sir," Aesha bows. Her face angles like Uhai's, but her eyes are too round and her nose too large.

"And Dame Aesha?"

"Yes, sir?" she repeats the same two words, but as a question. Fascinating!

"Give my regards to the Hurricane."

They break away, and I dart back to the safety of Denning, pushing him down the hall at a quicker pace than he, mindless thing, would go. Ephidel rages enough when I do what I am allowed to do. I doubt eavesdropping would reinforce his limited patience of me. I do not, however, return to that little room. Instead, I follow the hallway until I meet another human, and then utilize the skills I have practiced with both Denning and Uhai.

"Good day," I begin. My subject is a skinny male, very young, and perhaps not fully mature. He has hair that looks like grass, except dull and brown. His lip curls up in one direction and he looks up and down at me.

". . . good day," the boy says back, unsure of how to address me.

"Would you please direct me . . ." I pause. I do not know how to word my request. I complete it as best I can, regardless. "Outside?"

"You mean to the courtyard or something?" he prompts. This is another human ability, the suggestion of the unknown. I find it useful.

"I suppose so," I reply. Perhaps Denning is standing too close to me. I push him a little further back, discreetly.

"Uh, just down that hall," he points down the adjoining corridor. "Then turn left. Just out the doors."

"Thank you."

He scurries away from me as swiftly as possible, eyeing Denning suspiciously. Ah, the bow. Denning is carrying a bow half as tall as he. This must be the reason behind the boy's suspicious looks. For a moment, the boy had reminded me of Nils.

I have not thought much about Ninian or Nils, now that I sit and think, now that I am not called to be at anyone's side. In comparison to all other events, the two dragon children seem to have been overlooked. The courtyard is busy. I hide in a shadowed corner and watch.

My thoughts are clouded. I shift my weight on each foot accordingly. Dame Aesha and her report sit first and foremost in my brain. I cannot ignore a sort of sinking pit in my belly.

Ninian is in no danger, I tell myself. The Black Fang will be under strict orders to take her alive and whole, along with her spiteful brother. I have never been fond of Nils, and he openly detested me. But Ninian was always kind.

I close my eyes. The noise of human daily life continues onward. Ignoring the talk of men and women going about their business, I sink down into myself, and bring up something as old as time.

To my mind's eye, quintessence is never a set color, but now I see it green. Wispy threads are collected in my body, twisting around in on their own selves. They have to, to stay together. I open my eyelids, and peer at the courtyard.

Green threads curl lazily around the humans as they walk, unaware of the ghostly trails their quintessence leaves behind. I know how many people are here, in this castle. Not a number, precisely, but something else.

I dip into the curled pit of my quintessence, and unravel a solitary strand, all with within my mind. I bring the string of power forth, pushing it onward and outwards. I feel more souls, more power, scattered across the fields surrounding the castle in cluttered patches. Pushing farther and farther, I can feel all of Laus. I can do nothing to them, so far away, but I can observe. Khathelet is north. I move the thread north, rapidly diminishing the store in contained within me.

I brush against a familiar soul, and then collapse. When I awake, the connection is broken and I am very weak, lying stretched across the bed in the room Lord Darin granted me. Ephidel scolds me, but I do not listen. I have too little quintessence to even move properly, but I know what I felt. Ephidel gives up and informs me that my return to Valor will be quick; Nergal will be vastly displeased, if I am dead before he has finished with his use for me.

I do not see Uhai, when I return to Valor, for I am too weak to go searching for him, and he is incredibly busy, too busy to visit me in the Gate. It is forbidden to him anyway. I suspect he is made busy by Sonia, who I am hearing much more from and seeing much less of, at the same time. Perhaps Ephidel cannot stand me any longer.

My trip to the Marquess was a disappointment; I tell as much to Nergal, almost two weeks later, when I am recovered. He is not surprised.

"He has weak quintessence," Nergal says, simply. I am helping him concoct his elixir, the magic potion that sustains him, alongside endless infusions of quintessence. "I promise you that one day you shall meet a real Marquess, one of outstanding quintessence; we have found him. I shall send you to retrieve him. You will perform most admirably, dearest Limstella."

"Yes, Lord Nergal," I say obediently. His words please me. I hesitate, before continuing. "Lord Nergal, I do not feel I am serving you to the best of my ability."

"What?" Nergal replies absently, absorbed deeply into a tome of ancient magic.

"I do not feel I am serving you to the best of my ability."

"Why do you say that, my pet?" that strikes his attention, and he closes the old volume gently.

"I—Sonia says that Ninian and Nils escaped our grasp again," I say carefully. I must choose my words wisely. "She says we cannot find them now."

"That much is true, yes," Lord Nergal is looking at me curiously. I sense his impatience.

"I think that I can find them, my lord," I say hurriedly. "But I need . . ."

He cuts me off.

"Quintessence," he murmurs, stunned and wide-eyed. He understands me. He always has. "That's why . . . you must have more than your regular feed, much more, if you are to survive, my precious Limstella." Nergal begins to cackle as he talks, hope renewed with him. "Oh, Limstella! We must hunt!"

"Of course, Lord Nergal," I say.

Ninian, I will soon find you. Make no mistake.

**..0..**

**Alrighty then. I introduce you to the weakest chapter yet. **

**TheOneAndOnlyT—Dude, it's a celebrity sighting! I'm totally a fan. Thank you for reviewing! **

**elven-girl10—Thank you so much! There are actually earlier Limstella fics out there. But none like this! . . . at least, I hope not.**

**R Amethyst—I'm glad you thought so. Uhai is one of my favorite bosses, very noble. Ugh, I'm not so sure I handled characterization so well in this chapter. **

**Snoopy6458—Thank you. I'm glad at least some parts of my writing are within the lines.**

**Ivan the Terrible—Anne! (I think.) I never got around to your req, I'm sorry. Thank you for taking time out to review.**

**Miss Krux—"This mind and body are constructs. Yes, as is this sorrow."**

**Rouge Warrior—No, I was never flamed. I just think it's kinda fun. I guess I'd have to be nutty to write about Limstella.**

**laFia—Omg, so am I. It's like that chapter can't come soon enough. Thank you for the review.**

**Cool-chan—Ooh, it's Matthew and Legault. Thank you (all) for commenting! It means quite a bit to me.**

**JSB—Don't worry, I have the LimstellaxEliwood thing all worked out. And—omg—it's only partially one-sided!1! Yeah, I get too excited about stuff . . .**

**Wandering Cat—Uh, sorry for tricking you? Most of my fics do tend to fall into one-shot categories because I'm too lazy to do anything else. Everyone loves Uhai!**

**Evergladelord—Thank you for the compliment! I hope you haven't forgotten about this fic . . .**

**Phew! That's all of them. By the way . . . none of you are squares. I am proud to say that every single last one of you is triangular, the best shape ever. **


	4. The Practice Human

Hunting is not an easy task. The reward is suitably satisfactory; a guilty, pleasurable shudder passes throughout my body each time, just as I lean over my victim's face and drain them of their soul. I have become skilled in reading human emotions, even though I cannot copy them exactly. I see fear, most often. Sometimes, I see hate. But mostly, though, I see the quintessence.

The quintessence makes the kill worthwhile. I breathe in the green strands of life as eager humans breathe air or consume food.

I take too much quintessence to live, to run, to jump, to fight. Nergal despairs at ever gaining enough to track down Ninian and Nils. I know that if I just had enough to spread out across all of Elibe, I would be able to find them. Sonia has all of the Black Fang assassins headed by a drone, to collect the quintessence from the kill. She hates dumping such a precious commodity into me, but Lord Nergal traces a gnarled finger down her arm, whispers in her ear and she obeys willingly.

My studies have taken a plunge. I am no longer concerned with _learning._ I am stretching, experimenting with my knowledge, testing powers I didn't know existed. I would call it a form of learning. A subset. Or is it the opposite?

I feel that I am very close to living.

Nergal fills my rooms with quintessence. I revel in it, sucking it into my body as I rest like a fish with gills. Or perhaps more like a squid; I move quickly, filling myself with essence and then ejecting it to propel myself further into my research. My abilities have more than doubled, my knowledge has exploded in growth. I no longer even need a tome for the simplest spells, such as Fire, and I may Teleport anywhere I choose. This irks Ephidel, who would rather shut me up in a ship every time we need to leave. Keeping up appearances is important to him. Thankfully, I am no longer required to go with him in order to learn. Nergal has permitted me to leave my cage and wander where I will, a bird on the wind.

Metaphors are a hallmark of humanity. Lord Nergal is fond of them; Sonia and Ephidel use them to excess. Neither of those two seems to understand what they are copying. They go about their mundane duties, glowering at me and begrudging my freedom, all the while spouting metaphors, repeated word for word from the books in my library.

I cannot say that I do not try to rub it in, which is another very human phrase. ("It" is an indefinite word—humans adore indefinition, which is not a word at all.) To them, I am the most mechanical being alive, no more intelligent that a drone. Drones do not think like I do. They only swallow what they learn. They can only repeat it. I rework it. I redo it. I make new ideas compounded on others. I have learned this skill as human babies do. I have been nothing but a child all my life and now I am progressing rapidly to adulthood. All with the greatest discretion, of course. My desire to be human would only displease Lord Nergal. He tells me in confidence, "They are too stupid. They fantasize about being human, when they are nothing but drones with greater facilities in the brain. Only you, Limstella, know what you are. My sweet Limstella. You are perfect in your inhumanity." I wish he would not say such things, as I hate for Lord Nergal to be wrong in any way.

Nergal sends me hunting on my own, confident that my loyalty will not waver despite the vast distance. Hunting, though it brings me pleasure to be off of Valor, takes time and patience. Merely pulling a child from the streets of Badon is as unsatisfying as it is futile. I would have to empty the city, the entire wanton and corrupt city, to feed but a quarter of my efforts.

Quintessence varies from creature, to creature. A strong, noble creature yields as much as a small city. Such exceptional human beings are naturally a rare find; human nature, as envious as I am of it, is cruel and indolent. So I am left to wrap myself in a thick green shroud and follow breadcrumbs to natural fountains of essence. I have learned how to be extremely discreet. Before, my inquiries were bold, clumsy and conspicuous. It took much practice before I was able to carry on conversation that yielded any success.

My guise is that of a rathgiar Sacaen. Uhai's stories of Sacae included a rogue set of nomads that swore to the banner of no clan or tribe. They wander Elibe without cause or purpose, unlike the Djute, Kutolah, Vissar or Paelyn. Their name means "wind-tossed." I am able to effectively pose as a female rathgiar, draped in my verdant cloak, wearing clothes borrowed from Lycians, Sacaens and Bernmen alike. From the ancient texts of the dragon-sorcerer, Claidba, I have learned the spells for an unmemorable face, an unnoticeable form and inconspicuous behavior. For precaution I wear a thick veil of hair across my features. The most any human sees are my eyes, which one poor victim told me shone like golden stars.

"Are you Jeyman, captain of the . . ._ Craven Cur_?" I ask, adopting the best Sacaen accent I can muster. My voice is too shrill to mimic the deep, throaty voice of Uhai and his men. The most I can do is pronounce my "r" and "h" as gutturally as possible. The man I address is not dissimilar to other sea captains. He is grizzled and his clothes are greasy. Before my intrusion, he had been observing the loading of some new-gotten (ill-gotten?) cargo. He stands off to the side, presumably guarding his dock from stowaways and ne'er-do-wells.

"Aye, that is me," he says, looking down on me suspiciously. Humans, no matter how I am disguised, are always suspicious of strangers. "Who's asking?"

"May Father Sky bless you, then, Jeyman. I am Isra," I bow deeply. The name is a fake one, of course—Nergal advised me to use a pseudonym, just for precaution. The name comes once again from _Ingald, _the Grey Knight's lover and eventual wife"I heard that yours is the only ship going east to Bern."

"Isra has an interest in Bern, does she?" Jeyman asks, scratching his beard thoughtfully.

"Yes. I am willing to pay you for safe passage."

These are magic words. Not like Fire or Flux or Fimbulvetr. They are magic to human ears. Even the most hateful human will twist his head in the direction of the magic spell, bend over backwards and jump through fire to hear the words, "I have money and I will give it to you."

A spark burns in Jeyman's eyes. I have been told that for enough gold, he will carry me to St. Elimine and back. I can only assume that this means he is easily bought.

"Now, how much can a raggedy lady like you pay?" he says shrewdly. I know that if I offer him a great sum he will ask for more anyway.

"I hear that the rate for a passage to Bern by official ships is a little more than five hundred pieces of gold," I begin to deal. I choose my words very carefully, so that he will want my business.

"Per person," Jeyman says, and before he can continue, I interrupt him.

"Of course, per person," I say, attempting to copy Ursula's manner of speech, the one she employs when she wants something. I have noticed that Uhai eventually gives in when she uses this tone of voice. She is usually standing very close, as well; Jeyman stinks so badly I don't even wish to be this far away. "My brothers will be coming as well, of course."

As I am masquerading as a woman, it is wiser to bring drones in the shape of men. I usually bring along Denning and a second I have trained in his likeness, although he is unnamed. I could conceivably pretend to be male, as I am tall and skinny. I envy humans for their separate sexes. The most I can do is choose to mimic one or the other.

"Brothers?" Jeyman says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," I confirm. "Two, Jared and Rycris. We travel for our own reasons."

Two more names from _Ingald_, this time taken from the dragons that the Grey Knight battles in the last two chapters. I fear I have no originality.

"Two thousand gold pieces," Jeyman demands, after thinking a moment.

"You're insane," I protest mildly. I am always irritated with my inability to sound irritated. I try raising my voice. "That price is insane! The Bernish vessels charge fiven hundred less!"

"I'm afraid I have the upper hand, Miss Griselde," Jeyman say lazily. He is trying to intimidate me. "If you don't like my price, go travel with the Bernmen. But I'm betting those 'own reasons' don't mesh well with customs, do they?"

I hesitate. Jeyman does not know that I could simply disappear and reappear with Denning and the second one in tow. That is what makes dealing with humans exciting. I prefer dealing with them as closely as possible, but Sonia does not want the Black Fang to know of me at all. Even Uhai is too much for her. I therefore seek out humans as often as I can, especially those unaffiliated with the Black Fang.

"I understand," I try to say as reluctantly as possible. My voice is only breaking off in strange places; there is no true "reluctance" there. Again, I experience irritation with myself. "I will go fetch my brothers. We shall pay together."

There are heaps of gold shoveled in corners of the Gate. I know, because I set a team of drones to clear out the halls myself. The constant presence was making it difficult for me to walk. The loss of two thousand gold pieces does not upset me unduly. In fact, I don't think I mind at all. Money is an aspect of human culture I have very little interest in, despite its convenience.

"Jared" and "Rycris" are idling near a vendor. "Jared" is actually Denning. I have taught them to look occupied by talking and fidgeting. Their conversation is thus:

"I see."

"Mm."

"And you confirm it how?"

"Our sister told me."

"Why do you listen to her?"

"Because she is wise."

"I see."

And then it repeats. I have not taught them yet to use different conversations. It is very difficult to get the drones to talk to each other instead of myself. One would not think it so very hard. There is a trigger word I say, such as "Stay" or "I will return soon." They associate it with a triggered conversation I have already instructed them in and begin to say it as soon as I am out of sight. To any human listening, it must sound very odd, but it is better than two dark, imposing men standing still and silent as statues. I spend many frustrating hours on Valor, making them repeat their silly conversations.

"Come along," I say as I approach. The vendor is noticeably concerned. I feel sympathy for her, as even I grow tired of Denning and his companions at times.

Denning and the other one cut their conversation short and follow me.

"I have found passage on a ship. I want you to be good," I say, primarily for the benefit of myself. Denning and the other drone do not really care. They don't understand "ship" or "passage" or "good." They only understand that they must follow me and defend me when necessary. Humans would compare them to collie dogs.

"Yes, sister," the other one says obediently. He is supposed to say that in response to "be good."

We walk in a triangle, with me in the lead and them in the rear. This way we cut a path through the sailors and mothers and children, without really trying. A trio of shrouded siblings is intimidating indeed. Even Jeyman looks alert when my "brothers" follow me up the pier.

I hold out my hand. "Jared, give me the money."

"Of course, my sister," Denning says flatly, reaching into his heavy clothing for the purse that we carry our money in. I shake it, pretending to weigh it in my hand. I think there are about five hundred coins in it.

"I will pay the rest upon arriving in Bern," I say with what I hope sounds like finality.

Jeyman nods, taking the purse without counting it. I know he will examine each coin individually before stashing them away, once we are out to sea. Such is the way of humans. I do not begrudge them this suspicious quirk. Jeyman has the luxury of personality, a personality that gives him his suspicion and his guile. While my mind has certainly matured in a short time, I am conspicuous and infantile in my attempts at a human persona.

I want to serve Lord Nergal, and there are far better ways to do it than playing pretend with humans. But I find humanity more than fascinating, more than alluring. I lust for humanity for myself. I _want_ it, with a power greater than anything Nergal could use to sway me. But I must always remind myself that I am "I" not I, and that "I want" is a statement that has no substantiality when it comes from "me."

**..0..**

What humans call sleep is more like a deep state of meditation to the drones. The drones do not need sleep like I do. They do not think for themselves or grow. I do not grow, either; I was born fully grown, like the dragons' goddess Asherah. But I need sleep. As a sacrifice of functionality for higher thinking, I need to sleep and rest my brain. I need sleep. Not very much. But some.

And—I am extremely proud of this, as I am any similarity between humans and myself—I get upset when someone wakes me prematurely, for any cause.

I awaken with hands on me. Jeyman must believe that he can rape me, now that I am two weeks on his ship. Rape is something I discovered almost by accident. Generally, the fiends who try this on me have meager quintessence. I could allow him to continue, but he would be sorely disappointed. Instead, I let my irritation control me and strike him solidly in the stomach. Denning and the other—I really need to name him, but I am waiting for a stroke of pure creativity—are not nearby. I cannot see them. They must be outside the cabin somewhere, for when Jeyman offered me this bed I left them with instructions to do what ever he said.

Jeyman does not gasp. The air leaves him too quickly for that to happen. I am much, much stronger than my skinny frame lets on. I push him off me and sit up. His cabin is very small, but all ships tend to be this way.

"Ah . . . guah . . ." Jeyman gurgles. My mistake. He is vomiting blood. Darn.

I shove him aside. Unfortunate, I think irritably. I stand and make to leave before thinking twice of it. I turn back, to Jeyman who is crumpled on the floorboards. Not so much of a waste, I think.

Without thinking I brush aside my hair and lean down to drink.

When I am done, I seek Denning and his 'brother.' It is probably best that we leave quickly. A sailor looks alarmed when I emerge alone and call my two 'brothers' into the cabin with Jeyman and I—I can only assume he knew of his captain's intents. I link my hands with the two drones and project myself to find land. This is not my first failed venture. But there is still something to attend to before departure.

Outside, I see that we were following along within sight of land—common. There are many stories of sailors going beyond the sight of land and losing their way entirely, for the sky clouded and there were no stars the further from Elibe one went. I do not want to leave a trail, of course. So there is but only one thing to do—weeks out of port, anything could happen to a cargo ship of low merit. Bern would miss its load, but not the men. I feel that it is best not to leave survivors.

My drones and I leave our cabin peaceably, but I have my tome—Elfire, this time, for it takes me less than a thought to conjure it—beneath my cloak. My face is unveiled. I hold my arms out before me and begin speaking the words. The sailor from before looks more alarmed than before and begins to shout aloud, but it is too late. I silence him, and then drink from him as well. The others stream around me—I care not for them, so I care not where they come from. I kill them just as easily.

One, however, proves to be more clever than the rest. He creeps behind my other 'brother' and holds his cutlass to the poor drone's neck. I watch coolly as he stammers out a threat to the unmoving drone, who does not look alarmed to be held captive at blade's edge.

"S-stop, or I kill your kin! Stop!" he shouts bravely.

"I commend you," I say, trying to be sincere. I glance around, as there are still some men, vengeful and lustful for my death. "This is new. No one has ever held my drones captive before."

"Drones?" he murmurs. A collective sound passes through the men about me. I step forward and not knowing any better, the man cuts the poor drone's throat. He sighs to death placidly. I am very excited, because on cue I frown angrily.

"Oh," I say dejectedly, secretly marveling at how upset I am at losing my companion. It will take me some time to get a new one, this far from Valor. "That is not good."

"Monster!" one says suddenly. "You're a monster of the Dread Isle!"

I look back at the drone and realize that his blood is greenish in color, the hallmark of a poorly made morph. Ah. Ephidel must have been in charge of that batch. He wasn't worth keeping anyway.

"I suppose," I admit. "I am Limstella, monster of Dread Isle. Rar."

Monsters say "rar," which is why I chose to say it then. It must have worked, for they all take a step back in fear, before the bravest of them charged. He fell quickly, singed with magic. The rest of them die just as expediently, rushing to their deaths willingly. It is nice that they are so accommodating. I suck as much quintessence as I can, before taking Denning's hand and looking to the continent. I inhale deeply and then concentrate.

How easy it is to teleport after a harvest! I do not even feel dizzy when we reappear inland, standing alone together on the beach. I look for miles in each direction with my second sight—that is what I call it, my reaching out. Inward, there is a city, a city with a beacon of quintessence. I am even more pleased by my reaction than on the ship—I smile happily as I recognize the beacon for what it is.

_Quintessence_. How glorious, I think.

There is quite a bit. I will be kept busy for some time, hunting this.

**..0..**

Pherae is the name of this territory. Ephidel and I discussed hunting this area most thoroughly. The first order of business is to find the beacon of quintessence, naturally, which will not be difficult for _me_. The problem will only arise if that person is of great station, or of a family of great affection or some such, as Nergal wishes us to be as discreet as we can.

I, of course, am the one chosen to locate the beacon. I always get the fun jobs now that I am in charge. Ephidel begrudges me not for the loss of certain duties, but for my leadership—I could have chosen the most laborious tasks possible and he would stand menacingly jealous as I worked.

I will not reveal how I came upon the beacon—they do not need to know all the details, and I am allowed to wander for days at a time without returning, without revealing where I've been. If Nergal asks, I will reply truthfully—but I owe no such allegiance to Sonia or Ephidel. And Nergal never asks.

So Ephidel lies waiting in Laus, as I hunt Pherae. I keep him as far as I can, so that he may not interfere with my hobbies. It is selfish of me—but Ursula has reported many near successes and sightings of the siblings, and I feel that I do not need to look as hard as the others. I know that it was my fault, my ignorance that they escaped—but by researching, interacting—I learn much more about thwarting human behavior.

Human behavior is my hobby, I suppose one could say. I am not supposed to have a hobby. I am not supposed to know what a hobby is. Oh well.

I have taken on a new bodyguard, another drone. He is not as well trained as the one I lost, but he wields an axe and a sword and could prove quite useful if I am in trouble. I pose this time as a Pheraen girl, my new name "Olia." I have left behind Denning, for he is currently "training" the other drones—I taught him how to repeat and teach in the same way that I do—and "Olia" has instead brought her brother "Chart" to protect her and support her. Chart sits in our rented home, mostly. It will be difficult, but I plan to train him to take on a job to add legitimacy to further ventures.

It is important to remember Olia and Chart are pretend characters. They do not exist, although I pretend I am Olia and pretend that the drone is Chart, just like I pretended to be Isra. I pretend quite often now. Maybe I am not so different from Sonia and Ephidel after all. However, I remind myself, I made up Olia all by myself; Sonia and Ephidel name nothing.

Before I can truly pretend to be Olia, though, I must know who it is that I am hunting. It is not difficult to find a great beacon of quintessence, but it is to track down the source in a concentrated area.

I am wearing mostly Lycian clothes. Girls' clothes, of course. I select nondescript dresses with little decoration—best not to be noticeable. The Pherean city is the capital of the territory and it is very large. The beacon is like a lighthouse, shining and guiding me. I sift through the streets as carelessly as a breeze. I don't mind taking my time and staring at the pretty things. I am very proud that I can discern "pretty" and that I have my own tastes. Real humans seem to approve as well; when I purchased a pair of crystal earrings the vendor complimented my choice.

I

**..0..**

was careless.

So caught up in being human, I, now blindfolded, gagged and bound with rope amongst what feels like seven real human girls, I forgot that humans could be dangerous to me. Usually they are not.

Darn.


End file.
